Ephemeral
by IsadoraJohnson
Summary: When Anakin in injured in the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan finds himself lonely, lost, and desperately turning to the woman he swore he'd forget. Siriwan. One shot.


_**Back from a long hiatus for another one shot. I've been reading too much Jodi Piccoult and "The Reader" lately to not turn out something seductive like this. And I'm allowed to be a fanfiction nerd until I graduate…just one month left! **_

_**--Issy **_

Obi-Wan and Siri stood in unison as the grey haired medic entered the waiting room.

"Master Kenobi?"

"How is he?" Obi-Wan asked without responding to her question.

"We expect him to be off the life support by tomorrow morning. As soon as he is strong enough, we'll operate."

Obi-Wan nodded, his stomach tightening in apprehension.

The medic folded her hands across her stomach, offering a gentle smile. "Master Kenobi, it is late. You look very tired. I suggest you go back to your quarters, clean up, and rest. We'll send word to you if anything changes."

Before Obi-Wan could respond, Siri interjected, "Yes. That's exactly what he needs. Thank you." Her fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrist. "Come on, Obi-Wan."

Mechanically, Obi-Wan allowed Siri to lead him out of the med center and down the dark halls of the Jedi Temple, the lights dimmed. On so many other nights as hopeless as this one, these halls, this fortress, had been his only shelter from the chaos that plagued the rest of his world. Tonight, however, the war outside seemed to have extended its sinister shadow to encase the very stones of his only home.

Siri accessed the door to the apartment he shared with Anakin and led him in, only releasing him once they were both inside. They stood for a moment, taking in the forgotten familiarity of life without the war. How incredible it was to think that just months ago, there was no fighting.

"Alright," Siri said at last. "You really need to rest Obi-Wan."

"I'm not tired," he replied automatically.

"Obi-Wan, you aren't doing him any good killing yourself worrying. Anakin's in good hands; the medics are doing all they can for him. The only thing you can do…" she trailed off. His fingers at his side had tangled with hers, clumsy after so many years without practice. He wanted to look down, to receive the visual confirmation that he was really was touching her again. For the first time in years.

She closed her eyes. "Don't do this, Obi-Wan." Despite the aching note of weariness in her voice, she did not move. Their hands remained awkwardly entangled at their sides, both unsure what to do next.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked softly.

"No." Her lips encased the word, reluctant to let it slip free. "I'm going to go to my quarters. Send for me when you hear anything. I'll meet you in the—"

He kissed her.

He only had to lean forward an inch to close the gap between them, and before he knew what he was doing he had fallen into her eyes and kissed her, one hand slipping into its familiar cradle at the back of her neck.

He felt her body shrink from his automatically, her lips harden with surprise. _What am I doing? _He panicked internally, his hand beginning to melt down her back and away, when suddenly—unexpectedly— she softened, and threw herself at him with ten years worth of repressed passion, her hand twisting from his to run through his hair, trace the line of his neck and back. He encircled her waist, pressing him to her as tightly as he could, as though by closing the gap between them, he could keep them together for longer than just this moment.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked again, his lips never leaving hers so that his words rolled with his tongue, warm and round, into her mouth.

He felt her fingers trickle down his cheeks, pushing him gently backwards so their lips parted and their noses touched. "Clean up," she said softly. "I'll be here when you're ready."

Reluctant to leave her and anxious to return, Obi-Wan tore himself from her arms and down the narrow hallway. He showered quickly, only taking time after to towel dry his hair and throw on a pair of pants before going back to meet her.

She wasn't where he had left her, but he could hear the water in the apartment's second shower running. His whole body burning with intense desire, he sat down to wait.

How much keener his senses were when awoken by this fire! How alive he felt, alive and young like he had not felt in years. His ears twitched the instant the water stopped running, counted her steps inside the small bathroom, knew the moment her towel dropped from her body. He heard the door open softly and smelled the steam seeping into the hallway before it had reached his nose.

He turned around and she was there, her golden hair falling in damp waves around her oval face, wearing nothing but one of his robes tied loosely at the waist, its cavernous material enveloping her slender shoulders.

He walked towards her, savoring every step that drew him closer, until he could feel her breath on his cheek and smell her freshly laundered skin, spiced by the fragrance of smoke and war that never quite washed away. She stood very still, her eyes never leaving his, her fingers clutching at the robe's plunging neckline.

He reached down and his mouth caressed hers with a tenderness he had not touched another being with in nearly a decade. His fingers traced her jaw line, her cheekbones, the soft cavity of her ear, memorizing her with his fingers so that the nights he dreamt of her, he could conjure the illusion of touch as well as sight to pretend she was beside him.

His lips slid from hers down to her neck, and from there they brushed her collarbone. She moaned softly, his fingers twisting in his damp hair. He slid the sleeve of the robe off her shoulder, letting it fall to rest in the crook of her elbow, and kissed there too. He ran his hands along the smooth skin of the secret contours of her he had never dared to dream of touching, as her fingers slid down his waist, seducing the clothes from his body. He could feel her bare skin pillowed against his chest and thighs, her pools of unguarded flesh melting like molten metal against his own. He drew his lips upward, sweeping her torso until they met hers, and together they fused.

She drew away from him for a moment, resting her face against his neck, taking a moment to simple breathe him in in preparation for their next step. "I've never done this before," she whispered.

"What, sex?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "Love."

Next he knew he was lying naked beside her, a pale glow from the city lights outside the window dappling her body with shade and shadow. Nothing touching but their fingers and foreheads.

He ran his hand along her cheek, tracing her lips with his thumb. "You're beautiful."

She smiled. "You're dreaming."

He returned the grin teasingly. "If I am, then I hope I never wake up." He reached out to kiss her, but she turned her face away from his.

"What are we doing?" she whispered, her voice suddenly painfully tight. Her legs wrapped around his torso. "We aren't seventeen anymore. This isn't a game. We're Jedi. We're at war. Who do we think we're fooling?"

"Ourselves," he replied, and gently, smoothly, he slipped inside of her.

Looking back, he remembered little of the night. Emotions blurred, weaving themselves so tightly together that it was difficult to separate the agony from the exhilaration, and in the end it became easier for him not to look back on them at all.

He remembered waking to the doorbell, both of them sitting up in a sudden panic of being discovered. "Stay here," he had whispered, climbing over her and out of bed, struggling into his discarded clothes. He remembered he was shaking, because it had taken him a moment to remember why he was waking with her beside him.

It was the promised news that had woken them. It must have been bad news, because as soon as he closed the door, he remembered sinking down with his back against it, his fingers running through the same tangles of hair that Siri's had caressed just hours before. Whatever the news had been, it didn't matter to him anymore. Looking back, Anakin had survived.

He remembered her walking from the bedroom, a sheet pressed against her chest and draping down to hide her front, as though she was suddenly ashamed of the naked body she had presented him with last night. He stared at her feet, unable to meet her eyes.

"You should go to him," she had said at last. He had nodded.

Somehow, he had done up his tunic and struggled into his shoes. He was suddenly no longer slumped on the floor, and Siri had disappeared. He padded softly into the bedroom to find her perched on the bed, still wrapped in the sheet, her legs drawn up to her chest. She looked up as he entered.

For a moment, all they did was look at each other, his grey eyes grappling with her green.

Looking back, he realized it was the last time she _really _looked at him.

Looking back, he realized he only saw her twice more before she died.

Looking back, he realized he had never actually told her he loved her. He'd never even told her goodbye.

"Never again," she whispered softly, her eyes surrendering and turning away from him guiltily.

"No," he found himself saying. "Never again."

*


End file.
